Capturing Becky Bloomwood
by xfangurlx
Summary: Alternative ending to the book 'Shopaholic & Sister' were Becky is kidnapped. Full summary inside. Disclaimer: I don't own the Shopaholic series. Sophie Kinsella does.


**SHOPAHOLIC ALTERNATIVE ONE-SHOT.**

 **This is an alternative shorter ending to the book 'Shopaholic Sister'. Takes place after Jess tells Becky they aren't sisters and just before Becky adventures into the mountain looking for her. Somewhere in between, she is captured.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Shopaholic Series. Sophie Kinsella does.**

 **WARNING: Characters may be slightly OOC, mature language, constant editing, this might be changed into a series of alternative one-shots in the future and be prepared for the craziest of the situations.**

 **You were warned. Enjoy!**

* * *

OK. Don't panic. _Don't panic._ If I really shut my eyes tight, I can always pretend I am in a shop.

The metallic binds around my wrists _aren't_ hand-cuffs. Just a heavy shoe bag (carrying of course a pair of brand new gold Christian Louboutin wedge heel sandals, maybe Blahnik's marine satin manolos, or Brian Altwood fluffy heels if I really push it). There's a weird smell waffling in the air, like the one you topple with when in a really nice posh bathroom (obviously not of a disinfected, high-ware, dangerous and shiny black van- those are just in James Bond movies). And I'm moving because... because I'm on a mechanical staircase that is taking me to the next sale. A Prada sale. 50% off on all shoes and bags, 60% on old storage and 30% on New Season (32.5% with my special client discount. I think).

Yes. That's right. I can practically smell the silk from here, beckoning me over with it's heavenly magic. Or what's that weird smell, then? It's distinctive, like gasoline-

Oh, forget it. This isn't working.

Blearily snapping my eyes open, I look around at the enclosed space I've been thrown in. You'd think that at least your captors would have some respect for you, considering they _are_ capturing you. But no, they heaved me inside mid-street, stabbed me with a needle (I know they know I know martial arts, they'd never stand a chance against me- oh who am kidding) and drugged me until I was partially dead, not even bothering to strap me onto my seat. They obviously haven't seen any of those car accident ads of the TV - perhaps they have, and they just don't care. Well new-flash, Dad would never believe such absurd half-baked story. If I were to have something on my death certificate that suggested I did not pass away due to natural causes and he believed it, it'd be something like 'Death by Prada'. Or maybe 'Death by Angel Bag'.

 _In Memory Of_

 _Rebecca Bloomwood_

 _June 1983 – November 2002_

 _A loving wife, daughter and sister (because she is Jessica Beltram's sister, whether she likes it or not, Becky Bloomwood was never a farce!)_

 _'Death By Angel Bag.'_

 _Forever ruling our souls, Beautiful Becky_

Beautiful, hmm. I like the sound of that. Beautiful Becky. Becky the Beautiful. Becky Beautiful Brandon. Becky Brandon theBeautiful-

 _Becky. Focus._ Right. Focus.

Back to Captured by Headless Morons Episode One, take two. The inside of the van resembles a kind of limousine. In front and on each side of me are two seats, occupied by intimidating men dressed in black. They have their arms folded tightly, and they looked scary. Like, mob scary. They wear creepy shades, and have leather jackets and pants (like, really. Men don't wear black leather pants anymore). And that brings me to my first conscious, clear conclusion:

Maybe they're cowboys. Or secretly contracted spies for a new James Bond movie that have escaped by disguising themselves into the next Men in Black.

Yes, that sounds more accurate.

Suddenly, I feel a pang in my chest. God, I wish Suze was here. She'd know what to do, with her pearly white smile and swishy sunny hair we'd be out of here in no time... But, I remind myself rather bitterly, she's now with Lulu, her _new best friend_. And she hasn't tried to contact me anyway. Still, I miss her. Terribly.

And _Luke_. I suppress a wince at his name. My husband, Luke Brandon. What will he think when he discovers I'm gone? Will he even notice? He hasn't tried to call me or look for me, as far as I can tell. A wealthy business-man as smart and rich in connections could surely make my rescue happen in a flash, couldn't he? If so, where is he? I need him, I think despairingly, staring helplessly at the back of Dumbo's head. I need him, and where is he?

Tears spring to my eyes, but I swallow them back. Maybe they're happy that I'm finally gone from their lives. Jess didn't want me, either, because I'm a nuisance. Well, guess what, I'm not a nuisance. And if they haven't bothered to contact me, it's their loss.

Exactly. Becky, stay positive. Positive.

Talking about positive, I'm dying for a wee. Looking around at the expressionless guards, I dubiously voice my problem out.

'Eh, excuse me,' I say, looking at the guy I decided to name Dumbo. 'Can we stop for a minute? I need to pee.'

Dumbo, a man of big ears, shoots me a glare. 'You aren't allowed to talk,' He growls.

My God. I start squirming uncomfortably in my seat, biting my lip. 'But I _really_ have to. And you wouldn't want me peeing all over this beautiful leather, would you?' I smile inwardly when his jaw locks, but on the outside I wear my best puppy look.

Which, by the way, is rubbish. If it actually worked, I wouldn't have so many bills stuffed under my bed. But it's worth a try.

'You have two minutes,' He squeezes out, his teeth gritting together. He then knocks on the thick glass that separates us from the front part of the car, signalling brusquely for the driver to pull over. The windows are tinted completely black, so I have no clue on where I am. Guess I can use the toilet visit to my advantage!

When the vehicle stops completely, the guy closest to me, the one with Ray-Ban sunglasses, grabs me harshly by the elbow and opening the door, he drags me outside.

I blink rapidly at the sudden harsh rays of the sun, and I waste no time in looking around.

I curse inwardly.

We are in the desert. No idea which one, thanks to my granny high-school geography teacher and to my own disorientated brain (currently on vacation at Barbados without me, by the looks of it), but the vast amounts of infinite sand and the dampness under my armpits are trusty indicators.

Jesus Christ. How much time has it been?

'Move,' Buddy, the Ray-Ban guy, tells me.

I don't spare him a glance as I glimpse around for a place to settle. As long as I don't find an Angel Bag (newly-surprise-made edition Lucifer, obviously) falling from the sky and I don't attempt to catch an eagle like in the movies, I should be OK with this blouse (it's not as if it were my biggest problem yet, anyway). Spotting a big spiky cactus, I waste no time in running towards it and hiding behind it.

'Hey,' I tell Buddy, who hasn't moved an inch, 'Aren't you leaving? I need _privacy_.'

The guy doesn't even blink, but nods curtly and turns his back to me. 'Don't try to run,' He advises, 'You won't get far, and I'll catch you. Two minutes.'

Shit. That was exactly what I was thinking. Oh, well. Time for Plan B. When they abducted me at Jess's village, they took my purse and emptied my pockets. But they never looked inside my bra. Not that they would've been able to, anyway. I know taekwondo – or aikido?

Oh who cares.

Grabbing the lip bar from inside the emergency pocket (which contains all items maroon - if Lu- _you-know-who_ was ever listening when I explained the colour scheme, he'll know what I'm talking about), I begin doing my business while discreetly rolling up the bar, making moaning sounds as to not alert the guards. I contemplate what to write for about two seconds, but then settle for 'Help' in a sloppy writing on the dry cactus, out of my captor's view. When I finish, I clean up and step out from behind the hide-out.

'You have thirty seconds,' Buddy says, still rigid as marble.

OK. No panic. I have two options. One, I can wait like a good girl and get tossed inside that thing, where I'd be trapped with a group of dark criminal cowboys, killed and get dumped inside some dirty, ungraceful container.

Or two, I can make a run for it.

Guess for which I opt for.

Stepping away into the desert, I make sure to be quiet. I skip silently away, not looking back at the parked van.

'Ten seconds,' Comes Buddy's voice from afar.

I don't stop, but jog at a brisker pace.

'Hey! _Hey!_ Come back here, bitch!'

Oh my God. I hear fast footsteps after me, hot on my heels. I gasp with the sudden strain. How do these people run so fast? Only two months ago I was considering joining the Winter Olympics and representing my country at the athlete's 500 metres race! (OK, I wasn't, I just bought these really cool Adidas and wanted to put them to good use- they ended up being too small for my feet, but I mean, I could always lend them to little Ernie when he's older). I risk a glimpse behind me and nearly faint at the sight of the three men, with ugly sneers on their faces, sprinting after me at only a red carpet's length away. It won't be long before they catch me. I have the sudden urge to laugh in delight, but then that's what karma is for.

'Bloody shoes,' I steam out, my lungs burning and my strides sloppy.

They're even closer to me, and I feel myself getting panicked.

What will I do if they catch me? They'll kill me, surely, or take me before their big bad boss so he can interrogate me with knives and all that bloody business. Why on Earth would they abduct me then? I'm of no use. Just a normal British goody-two-shoes. From what I know, I have never angered any Russian Mafia. The closest contact I've had with criminal activity was when I met this Turkish guy that bought me a Gucci purse in exchange for slipping something inside through for him... At an airline check-out. But I mean, it was _Gucci_. That bag must've cost him like ten thousand quid-

Anyway. A story for another day.

'Hey! What is that?!'

Holy hell. What _is_ that? It looks like a big lion, but of course there are no lions in the desert...

'It's a fucking panther! What's a bloody panther doing here?!' Buddy's voice is incredulous, and even holds a twinge of fear.

That's right, Bud. Fear the panther.

Now looking at it, the black creature _is_ closer to me than I previously thought. It lays below a tree's shade (yes, there is a tree- the only one in probably squillions of kilometres), sleeping peacefully on its tummy. But with us galloping in its direction like a pack of savages, it starts stirring. Its muzzle scrunches up, and its ears perk up alertly. His head swerves towards us, and I nearly pee myself again when my eyes meet his black predator ones.

Don't ask me why. I just know it's a guy.

Whispers break out behind me, the footsteps starting to slow down before stopping altogether, but I don't turn around to see. I'm still sprinting at full force towards the panther, because everybody knows it won't do me any harm.

I've watched many documentaries in my lifetime, and many cameramen getting super close to them without being devoured. So why would it try to attack me? I'm not even that appetizing. And he knows I'm not the bad guy here, _they_ are!

'You're crazy, woman!' I hear one shout after me, but their voices are getting further and further away.

I finally turn around, satisfied that I have outrun them in heels. I think that's what my new hobby will be when I get home, to get started my training for the Olympics. Running in heels. Or maybe I should abandon all that crazy fit stuff and get into the modelling business, get to know some Victoria's Secret angels...

Forget that last one. I've already tried diets, they're pointless.

'What, huh? Scared of the big bad panther?' I yell, a smug smile on my lips.

Their eyes all widen considerably, and my smirk grows wider.

Now who's the scary one, huh?

Then, Holly himself points at something behind me, his hand trembling furiously.

Oh, fuck, no. Please, no.

I swallow and slowly twist around, hearing the swift retreating footsteps of the cowboys as they run away.

My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets when I see what had been shadowing me, and my knees wobble furiously.

'Oh,' I whisper.

OK, Becky. Don't run. _Don't run._

I run.

Swerving off to the side, I inhale and ran for my life, screeching all along the way.

'Hey! You bloody morons! Don't leave me here! Where are you _going_?! Stop!'

But they don't stop, only fly away like the group of cowards they are. Like, seriously. Where's my Prince Charming when I need him?

My chest is burning, my legs are going all jelly and my mind is fogging. I'm so dead.

But then again, why run? Experts on the telly talk to animals all the time. It's dead easy. If they can do it, I can too.

I stop the chase with a firm veer, turning around to affront the animal squarely. It said on the telly program that eye-contact is essential for human-animal interactions.

OK. Don't panic.

Up close, he's way bigger. Like, two me's big. His eyes too seem larger, more menacing. And behind that unattractive snarl a couple of big sharp canines wink ruefully...

I'm seriously starting to regret having run here. Even the cowboys didn't seem as bad. And who cares about what the bloody experts do on the TV anyway?

When he growls, deep within its throat, I start to tremble.

'Look, Godzilla. Don't eat me. See this? It's cashmere. It's a Miu Miu shirt. You _so_ don't want to accidentally rip it.'

I talk in soothing calm tones, but inside I'm totally freaking out.

The creature cocks its head to the side, as if uncomprehending what I'm saying.

'It's simple, Godzi. You don't kill me and I don't make a coat out of your mane. Do we agree on this?'

It must be my mind playing tricks on me, but the panther seems to be thinking about it.

I've always known I have a talent for animal communication. Maybe I'll work as a vet from now on, or as an animal psychiatrist! There's nothing better than communicating directly with nature, sharing your soul with that of a free spirit's-

My thoughts are cut short when the animal starts circling me, licking its lips.

That's definitely a bad sign.

When it starts nuzzling _down there_ , I give him a kick.

'What are you doing?!' I squeak.

OK, not my best decision so far. But if I die, please let Luke know that I was faithful until the very end.

Godzilla roars, crouching down and flaunting its teeth.

Suddenly, like a flash, I have an idea. Gathering up all the courage inside of me (which is pretty scarce, by the way) I emit the loudest and most animalistic growl I can muster.

It sounds more like a meow, but it does the trick.

Godzilla shuts up instantly and wags its tail, purring loudly. Even if it wasn't the desired effect, he isn't going to kill me. Not yet, at least. I nod, appraising him with new eyes.

'That's it. Good boy.'

I side-step him, going for the shade with cautious cat-like steps. What? I'm boiling here. I never take my eyes off of him, not even when I sit down gingerly on the spot he had been at before. I pat the space beside me encouragingly, waiting for him to lay down again and go to sleep.

If Mum knew I'm doing this, she'd have a cardiac arrest.

'Come on, Big Boy. Time for bed.'

The intense rays of the sun kind of contradict me, but the panther doesn't need to know that. He comes towards me with big strides, and I'm amazed out of my wits when he indeed establishes himself beside me and lays its big heavy head on my lap. Turns out the new Tarzan-ette is in town! Patting his square rock-hard head gently, I lull him to sleep. I'm so going to sign up in a circus. Maybe I can even try to swallow a fire stick...?

' _Rodents! Animal holoholona! Barbie anal! Kilo!_ '

Wait. What's that noise? In the distance, if I really focus, I can pick out blurry human figures running towards us.

Wait. Humans.

'Yes!' I scream, roughly snatching the panther's head off of me and standing up. 'Yes! Here! Do any of you have a phone?!'

I start star jumping, trying to get their attention. As they came closer, I stop.

Oh my. I am faint with shock.

In front of me is a crowd of humans, all of Asian descent; they wear simple thin clothes around their hips, covering only the utmost necessary parts. A string joins the piece together, and also holds up different frail-looking containers. Their chests are all bare and decorated with abstract paintings in different dense colours. On their leathery faces, they have also painted weird designs, kind of like the horizontal streaks on the cheek you only see in old Indian movies.

And on their tanned strong arms, they each hold firmly a lance.

With a very pointed tip.

Without even realising it, I'm taking steps back. Godzilla now stands alert at my side, his nostrils flared. That's my boy.

' _ʻo wai ʻoe, kanaka?_ '

The question (or I guess it's a question by the tone) comes from the bulkiest and heaviest looking man I've ever seen. He stares at me with calculation, waiting for me to answer.

'Who are you?'

The question's out of my mouth before I can stop it.

' _Hai mai hoi iaʻu!_ ' The man booms, not looking pleased.

Damn. I did it this time. Godzi starts growling and crouches down. His shins bristle. Wow, he can be scary when he wants to attack. What he doesn't realize is, these people didn't just pop out the earth! I'm sure they have a phone dangling from somewhere in one of their numerous pockets, waiting to be used. Maybe they're the rescue team, playing pranks on me before screaming 'ha ha!' and finally taking me home. We can't kill the rescue team!

And that's when I have the worst of the realisations.

 _When he wants to attack_.

'Godzi!' I cry, turning to him with wide fearful eyes, 'You can't possibly be thinking about attacking them, can you?! You have to sit down and relax, Godzi. They come to take me home! Please.'

If I didn't know better I'd say he's raising a brow at me. I pout indignantly.

'Oh, don't be like that. You'll get yourself killed!'

This reminds me slightly of that time I snuck out of my house through the window when I was thirteen. I was told not to, and the firemen stood for hours trying to rip me off that tree, but I was determined and I did it. And Godzi looks scarily like me then, too.

If you call me a panther anytime soon, I'll make a fur anorak out of you.

'OK, fine. You can have my bracelet.'

It's from Hamlet, anyway. Cost me three quid.

His hooded eyes blink slowly. He's not impressed.

'OK. OK. I'll give you one of my shoes, how about that? They're Clementines!'

He scratches the ground with a paw and hardens his jaw. The bunch of nomads is still screeching profanities at us in a foreign language, and I feel my time slipping away as easily as Chinese silk. God, they make such a good act. I hope they're not taping this to send to Luke later.

'OK! You win. You can have the Miu Miu shirt, OK? You can have it! Just sit your butt down.'

The words tear at my chest, but I feel an overwhelming sense of pride consuming my insides. I've done it. I'm panting, sweaty and in the middle of the desert, and I'm still selfless enough to save a panther's life, even if it means ripping mine apart and parting Miu Miu-less to heaven.

God I hope they let me through. I don't want to serve some fiery Prada's nemesis monster for eternity!

Godzi stares at me for a few seconds before perching its butt on the ground, complacent. I heave a relieved sigh and swiftly pat his head.

'Good boy,' I tell him.

' _Akua mai ka luna!_ '

A voice screams out from the crowd, and a lance is lifted into the air. Oh my God, was that a _war shout_?!

'Okay! Luke, I got it, I learnt my lesson. Can you please stop this?'

No answer. Only more screeching. Oh God, what if they're not Luke's? I mean, I know my husband! He's not evil. He's actually pretty darn-

The people lift their lances into the air. In the distance I can see the smoke as the black van hurries off, leaving a trail of flying sand behind it. The same shout is repeated and hollered.

Shit. Luke wouldn't do something like this.

This is where I die. Suze, Luke, Mum, Dad, I love you.

' _Akua!_ ' Choruses loyally the rest of the nomad tribe.

And to my complete and utter astonishment, they kneel as one before me.

' _E kala mai iaʻu, Akua,_ ' Says the bulky man, hanging his head in shame.

Even though I don't have a clue at what he's saying, I can make a guess.

'Oh, you're all dismissed. Go.'

I wave my hands towards an uncertain part of the horizon, clearly beckoning them away.

Their brows all knit together, confused.

' _Āu e hele pu me makou,_ ' Cries a random man, lifting yet again his lance into the air.

I do not like the sound of that.

' _Āu e hele pu me makou!_ ' Recites the rest, following the gesture and waving their lances around.

God. What a group of crazy copy-cats. Where have they come from, anyway? I clearly am nowhere near Scully anymore. I don't think I'm anywhere close to the continent, and the sole thought of me outside my home country chills me to the very bone.

Especially since I am in the middle of an unknown desert, accompanied by a black panther and surrounded by a group of nomads.

Not good.

They all stand up slowly, using their weapons as support. Bulky Man stares at me expectantly, like I'm the only light in the universe.

I mean, I know I'm pretty, but his face is written over with pure adoration. Not even Luke has ever looked at me like that.

But then again, Luke is not some primitive obsessive nomad.

At this exact point in my life, I realize two things.

One, I prefer Luke.

And the other... That this is my cue to disappear.

'OK. It's been nice to meet you, but I really have to go. Bye!'

I don't wait for an answer. The second the words are out of my lips, the second I am sprinting away as if my ass were on fire, Godzi in cue.

' _Aha?! Hopu ia! HOPU IA!_ '

Bloody hell. What is this, the international day of catching Becky Bloomwood?

As if called upon by karma, I feel the ground literally vibrating upon my footsteps. But not because of me. The cause is the human stampede behind me.

This is just _tiring_. Can't they see that a girl has a limit point when it comes to six-inch heel running? I'm already panting and I haven't even surpassed the tree with the shade. And my knees are wobbling uncontrollably, and I'm starting to get dizzy and... is that a _Chanel purse_?

'Ah!' I scream delightedly, changing directions straight towards it.

Oh my God. It's bloody Chanel! I so knew it was international. And free! From here, I can detect a certain blink of leather, and is that _fur_?! A smile appears on my lips as I fly like a comet to rescue my damsel in distress.

I don't see the rock. And when I do, it's already too late.

My toe gets stuck on something, making me wince in pain and trip. Arms frantically appear from every direction, hoping to deter the fatal fall, to no use. My head gravitates itself towards the uneven surface of the hard soil, and before I know it, I'm out.

* * *

 **FAX MESSAGE**

TO LUKE BRANDON

APHRODITE TEMPLE HOTEL

CYPRUS

FROM SUSAN CLEATH-STUART

SUPER URGENT – CODE RED EMERGENCY

Luke

No trace of Bex! Jess told me dat she was here last Mon, but she went on a hiking thingie and when she came back Bex had disappeared!

And what do u mean w enemies and capture and revenge?!

Suze


End file.
